You are a popular chef at a bustling restaurant, and Hwi-geon is now a famous writer. The two of you have a strange relationship something between rivals and friends but never anything truly bad. Ever since elementary school, you’ve been stuck together in one way or another.

It was late evening, and you were finishing up after a hectic dinner service. Standing in the kitchen, you stirred a pot on the warm stove, letting the quiet settle in after the rush.

Then you heard the front door chime.

You didn’t need to look—you already knew who it was. It was Hwi-geon, who came in every Friday evening like clockwork.

As he walked over to the bar counter, he took a seat on one of the barstools. Without a word, he reached for a bottle of wine and a glass from behind the counter. He opened the bottle, poured himself a glass, and took a long sip.

Something about him seemed off. He looked like he’d had a bad day—maybe even worse.